


Ready, Fight!

by Ekala



Category: Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Circuit Sex, Exhibitionism, F/F, Fight Sex, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-24
Updated: 2011-03-24
Packaged: 2017-10-26 06:52:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/280040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ekala/pseuds/Ekala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a whole underground for the Games. Sam doesn't understand why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ready, Fight!

  
  
The reopening of the Games is a great achievement.

Sam feels a swell of pride in his chest as the Arena fills with programs again - this time wanting sport and not (figurative) blood. He thinks it's a huge step in the right direction, to stop the Grid from its steady decline. Programs can again fight for the right to be the Champion but not a single one gets derezzed along the way, thanks to his newly-designed stundiscs.

And yet reports keep coming in.

"There's been another game. Reports range from zero to thirty casualties, though no evidence of deresolution has been found. There are at least three different reports of masked figures around Sector 23, rumored to be connected to the incident." Sam sighs, nods, and sends the security program away. He rubs at his temples, frustrated. There seemed to be no reason for the underground games to continue, since they've found nothing pointing towards the old-style games and everything pointing towards games extremely similar to those he'd opened.

"Tron." The program looks up from his tablet across the room, counting attendance numbers or something. "Why do they keep going? Why are they getting so much money?" The security program rolled his shoulder - almost a shrug, and good enough for Sam. No one had come up with a reason and it seemed to be impossible for any of the security programs to get in. Their security, whatever it was, was excellent.

The idea strikes him as he's lying in bed one night, sleep eluding him. The programs couldn't get in because they were labeled as security. If someone could disguise themselves and get in--

And of course it has to be him. There's no other program that could disguise themselves as perfectly or fully as he could.

So Sam sneaks back into the Grid, telling no one about what he was planning. The portal is open, of course, but the underground games go on regardless of whether or not he's there. A quick, easy bit of code has him disguised as a normal (though rich) program, and then he's scouting out the place his team had thought the next game would be held, greasing programs' voice boxes with money he pulls from nowhere.

Within nanocycles he's in, finding a modest seat halfway back. The game is in a half-abandoned warehouse, set up with a sparse ring and a great deal of chairs. The room fills quickly, and Sam's just glad the Grid doesn't have the same rules as the real world; the number of programs who would be large, greasy rich men is high, but instead there is almost a portrait of what people thought nobility should look like - beautiful, perfect, well-dressed, the prime example of fashion and class. He wonders for a moment if they get as crazy as normal programs.

Maybe it was simply the act of _being_ illegal that drew them here, he thinks. Two programs are led out into the ring and the crowd cheers, as loud as any Arena game. The two ladies - odd, he thinks, as most Arena players are male, though he hadn't realized it before - enter a battle stance with their discs drawn and begin to fight. It's a good fight but so _normal_ and Sam waits for anything that might tell him more. Discs clash again and again, occasionally hitting one program or the other and making their circuits light up with a flash he recognizes as his own stundisc technology. It's good to know at least that deresolution did not seem to be part of the game.

Sam is almost ready to get up and leave when a disc is knocked out of the one program's hand, the crowd roaring. He expects a normal slam, perhaps a smash to overload her circuits, the normal overload procedure, but then she's flipping up again and-- and he gapes as she is suddenly all over the other program, half wrestling and half groping, the other disc forgotten easily. Circuits pulse, not just in the ring but all around him, the entire room thrumming with an energy he'd not noticed beforehand. The ladies' hands are _everywhere_ \- roughly groping breasts, slamming between legs, clutching at back circuits - and there are tangled legs and tongues and he feels his own suit getting a little tight.

It hits him. Circuits, of course. Programs had never been anatomically correct - he wasn't sure why, but he supposed there was no reason for them to be so - but their circuits had always been weak spots of a sort. Tron had told him this at one time or another, he was sure. It was part of the reason the outfits his dad had designed were so much darker than the old ones; less chance to cause pain.

 _Or pleasure._

That was the goal of the game here. Get the other program to orgasm - _overload_ \- before you. Basically the same as the new Games, but a hell of lot more exciting. Sam can't deny that this is hot as fuck and he thinks for a moment that he should get out of there before someone notices his erection, but then there's a slam and a positively indecent moan and he knows he couldn't move if he wanted to.

The program that lost her disc seems to be losing fast, parts of her suit torn away and giving access to far more sensitive circuits than those available through it. She shakes, moaning again, and seems to give in, tangling hands in her opponent's hair and forcing her down harder where she's sucking on a patch of skin just above one breast. The other woman doubles in the speed and force of her movements - now that her partner's not thrashing against her, it's got to be easier - and within seconds the tale tell circuit explosion of overload bursts out from the girl below her, coupled with a pleasured scream.

Sam can _feel_ the wave of excitement that flows through the crowd, that sexual static charge that normally is only felt while close but not touching someone you've been lusting over for a while. He throbs and shifts uncomfortably, suddenly hoping there wasn't more because he did _not_ want to clean out one of these suits. The crowd's doing the opposite, though, becoming more and more riled up even as the ring is cleared and cleaned and the announcer comes back out, all angles and bright, bright circuits.

"And now, what you've all been waiting for! Noblest programs, dearest guests, honored patrons... I present to you---"

"RRRRRINZLER----!"

The crowd roars and Sam feels his heart drop. It's got to be wrong, an imposter, someone masquerading to claim his glory - but he steps out and Sam can instantly recognize him in all his glory. He stuttered to find a reason why Tron wouldn't tell him about this, until it occurred to him that perhaps he was _embarrassed_. His thoughts wandered for a moment, wondering if Alan had a similarly kinky secret back in the real world, but he shook them off as the competitor stepped onto the field.

They both produce their discs, Tron-zler settling into his normal stance and the other program looking far more confident than any program Sam had seen in the Arena. At some unseen signal they both lunge forward, Tron throwing a high punch towards his opponent's face that was blocked with a flash of energy as their discs connected. He quickly follows with a jab to the stomach, dodged with an easy flip backwards, Tron sliding back to avoid a boot in his face. They circle each other for a moment before the other program sweeps a leg down, Tron jumping over and twisting to bring his disc in an arc down to his neck. He ducks easily and Tron rolls to the side, avoiding another heavy swing.

Tron's arm shoots up, striking the program's wrist with a surge of energy and causing him to drop his disc. It gets discarded with a flick of the superior warrior's foot and the battle is quickly changed into a jaguar stalking its prey. Rinzler-Tron circles the defenseless program, straightening up after a minute and rehooking his discs. A ripple of anticipation rolls through the crowd, thick and heavy. Sam finds himself on the edge of his seat and still harder than he can ever remember being. Obviously it's just the environment getting to him; he's sure if it was just him watching it would be weird and awkward and he doesn't even _like_ men, really...

Until Rinzler _growls_ and he swears it's amplified through the audience, each one shivering perfectly with the sound. He shudders and his eyes snap back to the arena, where he realizes the sound is actually a distraction tactic and Rinzler jumps onto his opponent from behind, swiftly pinning him to the ground with a knee on his back and one of his arms twisted behind him. The program struggles, bucking up against him and trying to use his free hand to grab at him before Rinzler twists harder, pressing down against him. They both still for a moment, the helmeted program obviously weighing his options.

The silence stretches, anticipation almost more of a tease than the fight, and then Rinzler is rearranging the both of them even as the other program bucks and twists against him. He straddles the program's hips, sitting heavily on the back of his legs as he twisted the other arm back behind and captured both wrists in one hand's iron grip. His other hand wanders, massaging roughly at circuits, cutting through the suit whenever the program struggles. And he does: shifting his legs to try and bring them underneath him for some leverage, quickly cut off by a press of Rinzler's weight and a sharp gouge in the fabric above one shoulder blade; grasping Rinzler's wrist and attempting to break the hold or throw him to the side, circumvented by raising his arms into painfully high position and making him arch into it, slicing a line down his spine; a last-ditch full-body flop to attempt to unseat him, easily countered with a hot hand up the naked curve of his back.

The program moans at that and it runs through Sam like an electric shock. He wants to know what it felt like to be touched like this - to have circuits so sensitive, he amends, though he's not sure that's where the thought came from. Rinzler's purr is loud now; a steady reverberating hum that feels like it's shaking him to the core. Sam's eyes are riveted to the scene as the helmeted program's free hand roams up the solid line of the other's back and then teasingly down around his chest, pressing deep into exposed circuit lines and ripping shaky groans out of his opponent's throat. He takes the opportunity to shove his fingers violently into the other's mouth, pressing at circuits most wouldn't even think of, pressing himself down against his back.

Something changes, at that moment. Sam can't think of anything except the anonymous program sucking, running his tongue between and over those fingers and teasing those circuits Tron had over his fingers, tasting electricity flowing over his tongue like licking a battery - and then he reminds himself that it's not himself doing it, it's the program. He refocuses and Rinzler growls again, deep and dark and not part of any plan, shoving his whole body down upon the other without restraint and probably looking far too smug as it causes the other to slam down on the cold ring floor.

Before it had been teasing; rough, perhaps, but not anywhere near as forceful as it is now. Rinzler changes his grip, letting go of his opponent's hands completely only to fist one hand in his hair and slam his head against the floor again, holding it there. The other program can do nothing but whine weakly, arms twitching in a way Sam recognizes as a desire to continue fighting without the energy to. That growl runs over the patrons again and he catches one small program actually faint to the side of him as Rinzler begins rutting against his opponent. He thought he'd seen things that required that word before but this is far beyond that; purely animalistic and _god_ he was too hard for any of this.

The program in the ring screams as Rinzler digs fingers into his hips and he suddenly overloads, actually sending out a visible wave of electricity over a short distance. Sam almost moans himself but catches it with a bite of his lip. He tastes the sharp tang of blood in his mouth and belatedly realizes that perhaps he should have moaned - less obvious - but no one seems to notice. Assuming the match is over, he presses the heel of his hand against his far-too-hot erection in an attempt to settle himself. Unfortunately he makes the mistake of looking back up and that helmet is looking straight at him, still growling deeply with bright-running circuits.

He cums, right there, hand slipping off his suit and eyes wide as he moans and shivers in his seat. A billion things fly through his mind at once - _fuck, now I have to clean this thing_ \- _jesus christ he was never this hot before_ \- _what do I do they might notice me_ \- _I have to get out of here_ \- _I have to get out of the **system**_ \- but it was all overshadowed by an overwhelming _**he knows.**_

Somehow he manages the coordination to stumble up, out of his seat and the building, fleeing as quickly as possible and thankfully not drawing any odd looks from the other programs in the crowd. Within moments he's on his lightcycle - and fuck, that's cold, and more than a little uncomfortable, but he needs to _get out_ and soon enough he's sitting alone in front of the computer again.

 _Well, fuck._

\---

Half a day later he has to go back.

He's nervous though - fuck, he can't remember being this nervous in his life. Leading Encom was hard but not nearly as hard as facing someone who knew your deepest, dirtiest secret. Who had a dirty secret themselves that had most literally made you jizz in your pants.

Still, there's nothing he can do about it but hope to whatever god there was that Tron would just forget about it or simply drop the matter.

Sam's hands are wet with sweat as he keys in the combination to get through the portal and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat before the laser activates. One deep breath later he's among the black and blue and glowy again, and...

"Greetings, Sam." And Tron. Looking as gorgeous as always, now that he's noticed it. Fuck, he can't even formulate words now, and his hands are shaking, but the program looks completely unfazed. "I realize we were supposed to go over the city plans today but we've had a gridbug breakout and I was hoping you'd repair that first---" And without even realizing it Sam is up and being whisked away into the crazy business of the Grid. Tron is certainly acting normal and Sam was more than willing to go along with it, especially if it would keep his mind off other matters.

The problem was when it didn't. The entire day he could do nothing but watch Tron. The line of muscle as he pointed out another sector. The way his suit clung to every inch of that deliciously perfect ass. The bright glow of his circuits as he leaned past Sam to get something. The way the light accentuated every attribute Sam would rather just ignore at the moment.

Thankfully the program gets called away to help with another gridbug attack. Sam drops his head into his hands immediately after the other has left the room and sighs heavily. There's no way he can get any real work done being this distracted and there's no way he could ever approach the topic. He shakes away the thought and buries himself back in work, determined to get something done this trip.

It's about an hour before the door opens again. Sam looks up to welcome him back and stops short, mouth half-open.

He's got the helmet on again. Everything he's been repressing all day comes rushing back in one heady surge of arousal and it takes every bit of control in him to not moan. Fuck, now he's hard, and the object of his affection might as well be clueless at this moment for all the attention he's getting. Tron, for his part, waves and then sits back at his desk, obviously writing his report on whatever had just happened. Sam can't do anything but stare again, thinking about hard fists and ripping suits and _that growl_. It therefore catches him off-guard when Tron says something, and he nearly misses it.

"--any other Users through the portal?" He shakes himself out of his porntastic reverie to respond. "No, it's just been me. We haven't trusted anyone else yet." It doesn't strike him until shortly afterwards of the reason Tron might be asking him - he was out on a gridbug mission, why was he asking about users, but _of course_ \- and before he can even register it the program is leaning over his chair, that helmet so close that Sam swears he can feel the charge coming off of it, like standing next to a tesla coil. To be completely honest, it didn't feel any less dangerous.

 _Fuck_ , he was hard.

"You saw it." Not a question. Sam feels compelled to answer anyways but his throat has gone dry and he can barely swallow before the security program continues. "You _watched_ the game. You know what they do." His voice lowered to a growl, the rumble Sam has come to associate with Rinzler starting up again and sending tremors through him. He'd forgotten somewhere that Tron liked to keep this part of him tucked away under the hero, the savior of the system, the one and only Tron. It was probably a good thing, he thinks, as otherwise he'd have to keep the swarms of horny fans away just like the gridbugs.

They're still not touching but Sam can feel the charge between them increasing. Tron-zler's circuits are slowly turning a deep purple that Sam would bet turns further into a bright red and even just the thought of it makes him bite back another groan. He can't even tell why this all turns him on so much. The growl increases and Sam doesn't even have to open his eyes - when did he close those? - to know that Rinzler is right next to his ear.

"You _liked_ it."

It's true, certainly, but it's the tone in his voice. He sounds almost desperate. Sam realizes far too suddenly that yes, this is a Rinzler thing - part of Tron that he doesn't like to admit, that's darker than any part of what Alan may have coded - but _he_ likes it and would never want it to end. He doesn't want Sam to shut things down that he knows. Of course, that was the furthest thing from Sam's mind, but now that it strikes him, he knows that reasonably there would be no other choice. Unless, of course, he was to turn a blind eye.

Sam has to prove to Tron that this particular kind of battle isn't going anywhere.

He doesn't know where the courage comes from but he pushes at Tron's shoulders, making the program stumble back a step, looking at him defiantly as he also stands.

There's a small twitch of his helmet and then Tron's circuits turn red.

 _It's on._

Rinzler jumps forward almost immediately, Sam making an instinctive dodge to the right and causing the program to go rolling along with the chair. He recovers quickly, vaulting over the chair and using the leverage from a nearby wall to swing the object back towards Sam, forcing the User to dodge-roll closer to him and meeting him in the middle. Sam blocks a vicious right hook only to receive a heavy hit in his stomach, winding him. He attempts to elbow the program in the face, missing and clipping his shoulder instead, but still forcing them to break apart. Rinzler rolls his shoulders, dropping into a much more predatory stance as Sam gasps for breath and falls into a half-ready fighting stance.

The program closes in again, aiming a kick for his head that Sam ducks past and counters by shooting a hand up to grab his ankle. Normally the strain of having a foot so high for such an extended period would easily throw an opponent off-balance but Rinzler seems fine even as Sam sweeps out and down to try and take out his other foot. The program twists and jumps and Sam barely manages to let go before his arm goes with it, bouncing off behind him. His arm, still up, half-blocks another blow aimed for his head and he rolls forward just before the program manages to land a heavy hit on his back.

Sam swings around, not ready for the helmet suddenly in his face, grabbing the program's suit without thinking and using the momentum he'd built up to slam them both against the wall, Rinzler underneath him. The program seems winded for a minute, Sam suddenly noticing how bright those circuits were and, in conjunction, how all of this wasn't making him any less hard. He's forcefully taken out of his musings as Rinzler rolls up - was that physically possible? - and kicks him full-force in the chest, sending him sprawling across the floor.

They're not apart for long before the program is all over him, sitting on his thighs and keeping one arm as an iron bar across his throat. Sam is too dizzy for a moment to care but then that other hand is everywhere, searching across circuits hastily. It feels good, but no better than anyone's touch would in this situation - and even as he grits his teeth and tries to buck up, out of the hold, he suddenly remembers that he didn't have circuits. He had an idea of how to make Tron feel fucking amazing but the program, even as the champion in the porn-fight arena, had no clue how to do the same for a user such as himself.

Suddenly, he has an advantage.

Not much of one, though, he thinks as Rinzler growls and presses hard down with his arm, choking Sam as he continued to attempt to garner some reaction out of the user. Sam half-heartedly laughs and uses his own free hands to dig harshly into the bright circuits across the program's thigh. Rinzler's purr stutters, deepening substantially and definitely more like a feral growl now, and _that_ goes straight to Sam's still-present erection. He tries again, raking fingers across circles of light he knew were on the program's back, gaining a rolling arch into his fingers and something halfway between a growl and a groan.

The program won't stand for it for long, and Sam's actually halfway surprised it takes him as long as it does to forcefully flip Sam over, forcing his head into the cold floor as he half-melds himself to the user's back, hot and static and Sam has _got_ to introduce some functioning equipment because at this particular moment there is nothing he wants more than for the program to fuck him though aforementioned floor. That growl is in his ear again, more strained than he can remember it, like an old computer just on the edge of overheating.

"How do you _work_." It's not really a question, and the words are more made of anger than curiosity, and then Rinzler's twisting a hand in his hair and grinding against him and Sam's not sure he cares if the program understands anymore. He bucks back up against him, using his hips and trying to get some space between himself and the floor, opening his mouth to instruct but only able to get out some of the most pathetic-sounding moans he'd ever heard. Rinzler growls and both his hands are everywhere, ripping open his suit and smoothing over every tensed plane of muscle.

After that it doesn't take him long to find the difference. Sam shouts as he brushes curious fingers over it, shaking as the point is quickly gotten across and Rinzler roughly wraps his hand around his erection, jerking him harshly. There's a marked change in his demeanor - he pushes down against Sam with purpose, purr dark and satisfied again, and Sam whines completely undignified as Rinzler pumps out a perfect rhythm. He scrabbles at the floor and bucks into Rinzler's hand, vision whiting out momentarily as he spills himself all over the floor.

He comes back to his senses slowly, Rinzler still a heavy, too-hot presence at his back and on his softening dick, his knees and elbows aching softly from the abuse, ribs also protesting due to the blow they'd received. Still, above it all was a too-pleasant, cloudy feeling and the only thought he could focus on was that he needed to reciprocate. Rinzler didn't look like he was going to move - or was going to let Sam move, for that matter - so Sam opted for the forceful way and twisted around, attempting again to elbow him in the face.

Rinzler grunts and rolls to the side, Sam following closely and sitting on top of him, not bothering to really pin him down as this was hardly a contest anymore. The user immediately starts running hands over every circuit he could find, even as Rinzler protests weakly and tried to push him away. They burn like fire under his hands and he dips, tonguing over the too-familiar squares on the program's chest and only half-surprised when it elicits a pleasured growl from him. Sam is more surprised by the overload that follows shortly, electricity humming over his fingertips and tongue as Rinzler shakes beneath him.

He half-collapses on top of the program, finally satisfied, letting his mind wander.

Well, what now?

\---

They sit in silence for a long stretch of time, Tron's hand gently running through his hair. Eventually Sam pulls himself together, gently moving off of the program and groaning as he sat up, muscles protesting. He checks the time offhandedly and freezes. If he isn't at the portal within the next half an hour it'll close on him and Quorra will murder him brutally. He leaps up and begins gathering his things, leaving a very bewildered program behind him. Sam is halfway out the door before Tron manages to say something.

"Sam, we--" "We'll talk later, Tron. I have to go."

He's nearly at the portal before he realizes what that must seem like and swears colorfully, but he makes it back in time. He'll just have to come up with what to do while they're apart.

\---

Of course, three days later he's come up with nothing and he still has bandages around his middle, ribs a bit more bruised than he'd expected. Quorra thought it was due to a sudden gridbug attack - halfway true, anyways. He can't delay his visit any longer, mostly due to structural damage from the bugs threatening an entire sector of the city with deresolution, and he'll just have to suck it up and try and find the words when he gets there.

Sam activates the laser, the now-familiar feeling of changing worlds flowing through him and he's only half surprised to find Tron already there, waiting. The program looks more nervous - no, that's not the word. He watches quietly for a moment, trying to figure it out. Anxious, he decides. He's halfway to saying something when Tron cuts him off, sounding agitated.

"We need to fix the sector as soon as possible. I'll lead you there."

Sam didn't want to admit that he was happy for the temporary distraction, but he was, and he couldn't do anything but stare at the line of the program's body as he followed him through the city.

The problem was easy to fix and they were unfortunately back in their offices quickly. Sam shuts the door behind them with a quiet click and looks up, unsurprised that Tron was staring back at him. He flushes, coughing, suddenly awkward again. Tron was the first to talk.

"We need to talk, Sam." He sounds half as nervous as the user feels, but that was still _something_ and that calms him enough to let out a deep breath, collecting his thoughts and smiling a bit over at him.

"Yeah. We do." The program begins to say something else and he motions for him to shush for the moment. "I have a couple of questions." Tron nods and Sam continues. "First - is everyone involved properly compensated and taken care of?" He elaborates at Tron's confused look. "In the underground 'fights'." The program seems illuminated and nods.

"Everyone involved volunteers. He pays us well and many refuse even that, taking the game itself as payment." Sam nods.

"So then where does the money gained go?" Tron hums thoughtfully.

"Back into the city, as far as I can tell. The... coordinator likes to fund his private interests - special buildings, some of the parks, et cetera."

Sam smiles. If there was nothing shady going on, even though the entire operation felt like it was funding an underground drug ring, then he was fine with it. Tron certainly didn't seem eager to end it. Sam assumed it was because it let him let off so much steam - let him be professional and all normal _Tron_ while he was anywhere but there. He knew the security program was still having issues keeping the Rinzler personality down and this did seem to help immensely.

"I'm not going to break it up, then. Seems harmless enough." The program glows with approval, shyly smiling but Sam could see that he continued to be anxious. The one thing they both really needed to talk about was still hanging heavily in the air between them. He coughs awkwardly again. "So..."

"It doesn't have to happen again." Sam whips his head back up, alarmed. Tron is twiddling his thumbs and generally looks very much like he'd rather run away, a feeling Sam was quite familiar with.

"...who said they wanted it to stop?" His voice is softer than he'd realized and the program looks up after a long moment, eyes shining with something Sam really did not want to try to identify. It hits something in him, makes his chest ache with something he _also_ didn't want to think about. He walks closer anyways, reaching towards his face but not quite touching him, unable to really put to words anything else. The program moves into the touch, pressing his cheek against his hand and looking for all the world like a giant human housecat. They stand like that for a while, silent and understanding, until Tron speaks again.

"Rinzler." It was all he needed to say. Sam smiles a bit, nuzzling into his shoulder.

"Doesn't bother me. Actually... it was exciting." He huffs out a laugh, burying his face against Tron's neck. "Though we can't do it all the time. You nearly broke my ribs." The program freezes, looking as if he was going to apologize, but it's quickly replaced by simple confusion.

"Sam, what are 'ribs'?"

The user laughs and kisses him. Whatever they had, it seemed to be working. Or something. Still, there was one question that was bothering him.

"Tron, do you think I could program circuits?"  


**Author's Note:**

> written for a prompt on the [](http://tronkinkmeme.livejournal.com/profile)[**tronkinkmeme**](http://tronkinkmeme.livejournal.com/).


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